


lio de galon de redux

by MV_Agusta_F4



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips, Trans Galo Thymos, Trans Lio Fotia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26313637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MV_Agusta_F4/pseuds/MV_Agusta_F4
Summary: When Galo and Lio break out of their towering form as Lio de Galon, they find themselves far away from Promepolis, in the land of Arizona. Lio is desperate to make his way back home, where the Burnish are embroiled in the dangerously uncertain aftermath of Kray Foresight's nightmarish work with the Parnassus. Galo wants to help.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Galo Thymos, Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	lio de galon de redux

**Author's Note:**

> Minor AU from the very end of the events of Promare Canon (2019). When Galo and Lio separate from Lio de Galon, they find themselves far away from Promepolis, in Arizona. These two lads must eke their way out back home, a journey made only more difficult because where the hell are you supposed to go from sharing a mecha body with someone to going on a high stakes and imposed roadtrip with them?

Under the harsh sun of an arid desert, Galo Thymos scrubs a hand over close-cropped hair which jarringly transitions to sweaty blue curls plastered to his temple. Sandy grit catches under his fingernails, and when he pulls his hand away, it’s covered in oily grease. 

A shower would be nice, he thinks, rocking on his heels just behind the yellow line bifurcating the space between himself and empty train tracks. Hitching a newly purchased black mini-backpack over one shoulder, he lackadaisically flicks open his phone, pulls up Snapchat, and sends an indisputably crunchy selfie over to none other than Lio Fotia. 

Lio Fotia, who, in fact, sits unflinchingly upon the molten hot metal benches just behind Galo Thymos. The Mad Burnish boss extraordinaire is slumped over himself, clad in his signature over-buckled leather pants and an ill-fitting tourist’s T-shirt. It proudly displays ‘Maricopa Station, Est. 1996’. He’s been staring intently at his phone ever since they had figured out transportation.

They are both halfway, or like, one-third of the way around the world from Promepolis. Apparently. According to Lio Fotia, the man who had set the world aflame in tandem with Galo’s own burning firefighter soul, just 12 hours ago. The moment they had both stepped back from Galo de Lion, who towered over the Earth as if it were a petty stool for a small god, they had found themselves in the middle of Arizona. Allegedly, a small step for a small god translated to three thousand miles outside of the limits of Promepolis.

Lio unfurls himself from his miserable posture at the sound of his phone’s notification. 

“Such poor selfie form for the man who served as Burning Rescue’s poster child.” 

Lio’s signature air of petty grandiosity has revivified around himself, ushered in with a supercilious flick of the hair. Galo may be the world’s #1 firefighting idiot, but he assuredly knows how to provoke a response from his languishing backpacking compatriot. 

“Whatever!!! Show me how ‘selfie form’ works for a hotshot boss like you,” Galo throws over his shoulder. 

“Tch. You wish, Galo Thymos. Not every mortal man has instantly endearing features like mine. Anyways, that would necessitate my phone having a working camera. Which,” Lio says, holding up his shattered and battered cell in lieu of finishing his sentence. The thing is one untimely fumble away from falling apart at the seams. 

Galo snorts, laughing tiredly. “Oh. I, I honestly thought you just didn’t want to start a streak with me,” Galo says, pivoting to face Lio in an intentionally overblown display. His face is the paragon of mockingly affected timidity. 

The whole bit seems to go over Lio’s head. “What the fuck is a streak.” 

Galo’s eyebrows shoot up as he lunges to crouch beside Lio, his shoulder bumping into Lio’s in haste. He tilts his phone screen towards Lio, ready to plunge into an abbreviated lecture on social media. Before he can pull it all up, their long awaited train begins to pull into the largely empty plaza. 

The train’s metallic doors screech apart, releasing a gust of cool air that is palpable even from their distance. Lio shoots upwards and makes a straight shot for the doors, striding purposefully forwards in a manner that suggests that he’s already forgotten about the impromptu lesson and Galo himself. 

Galo takes a second. Blinks, at the sudden departure. It might be the dehydration and heat exhaustion, but as Lio walks away, he swears he feels slightly woozy. There’s no one to perform for, now. 

His mouth feels dry. He can feel a cold, weird sweat break out across his back. 

Sitting on the train’s platform, Galo is belatedly struck by the gravity of their situation.

Okay. Immediate needs. Water, food. Board the train. 

Slowly, slowly, Galo rises from his seat. Pivots on the spot and surveys the vicinity of the station. There. Vending machine. Choice. 

Two minutes later, his backpack carries five plastic bottles of water and a few bags of trail mix. In either hand, Galo carries two more water bottles. Can never be too hydrated, in his experience. 

He does a quick jog back over to the train, almost skidding between the doors as he comes to a halt, breathing a little too loud for the quiet interior. The doors close immediately behind him and his spine goes taut. Almost not-great timing, there. 

Galo scans the seats before him. Lio’s sitting in an aisle seat: he quickly flags Galo down, who awkwardly squeezes past him to sit beside the window. 

Lio’s legs are pulled up against himself, the heels of his leather boots digging into his seat. Hunched over his busted phone, he’s already connected to the train’s WiFi and has pulled up what looks like an instant messaging system (with an almost non-existent UI; what kind of uber-encrypted chat is Lio running, exactly?!) is pulled up, and Lio is typing furiously. It’s a miracle that the thing’s touchscreen is still functioning. He stops only to look over his shoulder from time to time. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” Galo asks, holding out a bottle for Lio.

Lio brings a finger to his lips, swiftly, an intense look in his eyes. “Aina bought us these tickets, right? And my passenger name, it’s Lio, right?” 

Galo nods as Lio snatches the water. 

“Doesn’t match my I.D. And I don’t know if this is one of those bougie railway companies that decides to cross-reference tickets with I.D., after passengers have already boarded.”

Is he reading too much into this? Maybe, but, if he’s right, better to quickly assuage his concern: 

“Oh, yeah, no, this isn’t one of those companies. I think they keep their trains pretty short-staffed outside of peak tourist season.” 

“Okay, rich bitch,” Lio says, teasing? “You’ve taken your fair share of vacation, then.”

Galo has to laugh at that. “Oh, no, man. I worked for Amtrak for a short stint a coupla years ago. Per diem.” 

“Hm.” The tone of voice used in Lio’s delivery is indecipherable. 

“But I used to worry about the same shit, too. I got to fix up my documentation a few years ago after joining Burning Rescue.”

Lio squints at him with gleaming eyes and opens his mouth as if he wants to comment further, when the train accelerates abruptly, growing into a silver comet that cuts through the expansive desert wastes that lay beyond. Lio returns his singular attention to his phone, tilting the device just so, such that Galo can’t catch a quick glimpse of the contents of his conversation. Not that he’d try, anyway. That’d be just a creepy fucking thing to do. Caught in a period of enforced inactivity and bereft of anyone’s immediate attention, Galo promptly checks the fuck out. Not really sleeping, mind you. More of a hazy disconsonance with the world at large. 

When his eyes refocus to the scene painting the windows of the train, they’ve been rocketing through the Arizona desert for at least a few hours. A lurid sunset has developed in the interim. Dying beams of sunlight scatter across the stand and hang themselves on motes of sand on the horizon. Lio’s eyes are transfixed by the site, with the same reverent look he had for the Promare, despite the fact that the color scheme is a far cry from those vanished beings. His phone lies forgotten in a loose grip. Lio’s hair, which had grown frizzy and expansive in the heat, presses against Galo’s hoodie, as he cranes his neck to ascertain a better view of the horizon. 

The slightly sick feeling in Galo’s stomach from earlier has not abated. Probably an admixture of just, general anxiety, and not having eaten for the past day and a half. 

“Finally given your cell phone a rest?” He says, holding out a newly opened bag of trail mix in Lio’s direction. 

Lio retracts swiftly into his personal space, though swiftly filches a handful of mix from the bag. “Nah, a boss’s work is never over. Just because Kray’s been apprehended, doesn’t mean that the Burnish are any safer. Promepolis authorities are of the mind that I unjustly desecrated the entire city in a Burnish fit and then  _ ran _ . Like a  _ fucking coward _ .” Lio’s bruised and sunken eyes have slightly glossed over in unshed and angry tears as he grits out each detail. 

“Apparently, there’s now a hit out for me. You’ve been chalked up to compliance with Mad Burnish terrorism as a result of  _ duress _ .” 

“Terrorism!?” Galo shouts. Lio quickly shushes him, eyes wide at his utter lack of discretion. Which. Yeah, not exactly his strong point. Whatever. The train car is practically empty. 

“Yes, Galo. Terrorism.” Lio hisses. “I don’t know what you were thinking, exactly. One huge mecha fight isn’t going to be enough to make the Burnish acknowledged as human, much less abstinent from ‘terrorism’. We’re going to have to keep our fucking heads down, as soon as we disembark.” 

Jesus fuck. “We’re gonna get back home, you know that, right? I - I’m not going to leave you, okay? We’re going to make it.” 

It’s not particularly elegant or verbose, it doesn’t hit the nail on the head as to Lio’s larger concerns, but the look in Lio’s eyes makes him think that maybe the message has been received. There’s an intensity in his expression that matches the burning flare in his heart, when he thinks about following Lio to the end of this all. 

“Sure, Galo.” 

It’s pitch black outside, now. The train lights flicker off, and Lio curls up, his back facing Galo. 

The stars peer from above cloudless skies as Galo pulls his hoodie over his mussed hair, folds his arms, and curls up to tuck his chin into the hem of his collar. 

He wonders if Lio would rather be straddling his bike, speeding through the desert, untethered. Straight back to Promepolis. 

Instead, they’ve got nothing but time and uncertainty between them and home, Galo ruminates. He’s out like a light, once more, a half-second later. 


End file.
